


After

by Lakeylou



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 00:07:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3875053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakeylou/pseuds/Lakeylou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After their first time together, Red is worried Lizzie will feel she has made a mistake. Lizzington.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own The Blacklist. I do not own the characters.

Raymond lay flat on his back while he tried to control his heavy breathing. His body was hot and sticky and spent, three things that should make him uncomfortable when in bed. Vulnerable, even. He was far from either. He would do it again, all over again, right now. And this time he’d be even more attentive, gentle. Take things slower. He had already stored away a few small things he found she enjoyed. Like linking her fingers with his in a loose grip. Whenever he released her left hand, she quickly found his again, kissing him soundly as she clung to it, whispering a small, 'no' as she gave it a squeeze. 

But now, he lay like a pin. His arms directly at his sides. He tried to erase what just happened, practiced forgetting it in case he had to, but his mind wasn't fooling for it. Flashes of her parted lips, those pink cheeks, eyelids fluttering, her hair a tousled mess around her shoulders. 

Usually, he would sprawl out across the whole bed. Sometimes he’d sleep on the left, sometimes the right. More often than not he would sit up in the middle of his bed, pillows behind his back, and against the head board. He would read for hours instead of sleep, and somewhere in the night or early morning he would nod off, waking the next day, his neck strained from sleeping upright, and from his chin hanging down on his chest.

But if there was a woman next to him, he would leave the bed first. Always. If it was just one night, a passionate, quick fling. No feelings, a means to an end sort of thing, he would never stay. Those nights hadn't occurred in a long time, however. The brief joy of them wore thin, the thought became less and less appealing. And then there was Elizabeth Keen, and when he got to know her, really know her, the thoughts of one night stands disappeared altogether.

Because this, this was entirely different.

And he worried, could barely look at her because for once, since so long ago, he wanted to stay. That’s why he lay so still. Maybe she would forget he was there, fall asleep, and curl towards him in the middle of the night when she was cold. If he could take one bit of good, or at least something hopeful right now, it would be that Lizzie hadn't moved. She had not run off to the bathroom embarrassed and regretful. She had not hastily grabbed her things and exited without a second glance. Instead, she was on her side, the sheets dipping just below her bare, milky-white back. Perhaps it wasn't any better. She wasn't facing him, for one. They had not spoken since he rolled of her, and her eyes were squeezed shut when she turned. Silence followed, and it was such a contrast to minutes before when all he heard was his name from her lips and her name from his lips.  
Red wanted her close and cuddled up next to him. To pull the blanket over them and just bathe in the glorious aftermath of it all. He wanted to hear her talk. He could only imagine what a sleepy Lizzie sounded like. He needed to hear her at least once. All lazy and soft and protesting halfheartedly how she needed to sleep but he wouldn't allow it. He needed to hear that voice like he needed air. And he wanted to drop kisses all over her pretty face because he hadn't had the time to properly do that either.

However, Red continued to lay still on the left side of the bed. Staring up at the white painted ceiling, the lights on a modest chandelier hanging above them. He hadn't been with someone with the lights on since his wife. But when Lizzie had kissed him, told him they had no time to turn off lights, he agreed, and that was the last thought of lights he had. 

That's when he lost all control. When there was no going back.

He really shouldn't have lost control. She initiated it, sure, but he knew better. She was emotional, confused, still strung up on Tom. At least she wasn't angry at him. He didn't want angry sex with Lizzie. But was this really how their first time should have been? It was a little clumsy, sure, but that’s what he delighted in the most about it. Not only was she nervous, but he was incredibly nervous. Out of his mind nervous, and it was something he found so refreshing. 

When she had come to him earlier on, just as the sun began to sleep, she had just wanted a drink with him. A talk, she said. They had one glass of wine each. He remembers clearly when she refused a second glass.

So it wasn't drunk sex. He would have never, ever, allowed that.

She did seem confused though, and that’s what cuts him the most. The way she found it hard to keep his gaze, her eyes fluttering around the living room. Her thumb rubbing the glass she held in her hand. Her little starts then stops when she tried to tell him why she had come over. Then saying she didn't really know.

She didn't know why.

And that’s when Red should have sent her on her way. Or, gently suggest he call Dembe to drop her home.

But he didn't.

 

Red reached out with his hand, wanting to touch her shoulder, just to see if she was alright, but he halted, his hand dropping before he made contact. If she flinched, he wouldn't know what to do. He couldn't deal with her retreating from his touch so soon after. She was so still, her breathing shallow and slow. He knew he needed to say something, anything. He must extract something from her so he knew where they stood. If it wasn't what he wanted to hear then so be it. It was like pulling off a band aid, do it quickly and get it over with.

Before he could decide on what to say, he had already said it. The apology slipping out without a second thought.

“I’m sorry, Lizzie.”

As she begun to roll over, he grimaced, preparing himself for an onslaught of tears, of dark, horror swirling in those watery eyes. He would tell her to not worry. He would never bring it up. He would even leave if she needed him to. For how long, was up to her.

“What for?” She asked, her voice quiet and soft. Her eyes pierced into his, dry and warm. A little apprehensive.

“This. You, here in my bed.”

She smiled, adjusting the pillow under her head. “Why are you sorry?”

Red was sitting up in bed now, and he suddenly felt self-conscious. His bare chest visible to her youthful, healthy stare. The scarred flesh on his back that she had so freely touched before, needed to disappear quickly. He scanned the floor for his shirt, he couldn't continue without it.

“Are you looking for this?”

Lizzie held his dress shirt out to him, but when he made a reach for it she pulled it against her chest. 

“Why are you sorry?”

Red needed that damn shirt. He stared at it, his eyes watching her hand clench around it possessively. He swallowed thickly, running his hand across his chest. His skin was still hot under his touch. He should probably take a shower when she left. Let the cold water clear his head.

“Red,” She gave him a small smile, trying to gain his attention.

He tilted his head while he looked at her, not quite sure what to make of her smile. “You’re feeling okay?” He asked hesitantly, his brow raising. “That was okay for you?”

“I’m not really the type of girl that gets into bed with just anyone.”

“I didn't think so,” Red replied, “But, Lizzie, you're alright?”

“Red,” Lizzie half chuckled and half sighed, throwing the shirt at his head. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t feel like you don’t deserve this.” 

 

A warmth settled not just in his belly, but wrapped around his heart and squeezed it tightly. It seemed she didn't regret it, not for now at least. And yes, he did feel exactly how she predicted. He didn't deserve her. He didn't deserve making love to her. Fingering the buttons on his shirt, his eyes traveled down the bed. As much as her answer pleased him it also made him uncomfortable. When he was put on the spot by Lizzie, he found it difficult to answer without appearing vulnerable. He was constantly afraid that if he let her know one thing, he would break in front of her, and tell her everything. Tell her things she wasn't ready to hear.

“Would you like a glass of water? Or something to eat?”

“No, I’m fine thank you.” Lizzie replied, mildly amused. She snuggled down, pulling the blankets up and over her shoulders. “Where are you going?”

“Well,” He drawled, looking down at her. “I’m not sure.”

"But you're thinking of a putting a shirt on?" Lizzie questioned. "Do you think it's going to protect you?"

"Protect me?"

"From letting go with me." Lizzie replied softly. "You think that by putting all your clothes back on it will somehow reverse the clock? Do you want to forget this, Red?"

"No," Red responded, not at all surprised by her ability to read him, but he didn't regret what happened. "Lizzie, no."

"Then lay down with me?" She suggested. "I've always imagined you to be a cuddling type of man."

Red finally smiled, his blonde eyelashes blinking as he chuckled quietly. He picked up his shirt from his lap and discarded it on the floor. "Did you imagine that?"

"Are you?"

He lay down again, moved towards her and carefully wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close to his chest. Her hands rested between them, lightly brushing the hairs on his chest. Putting the shirt on was such a foolish idea of his.

"I've been wanting to do this for such a long time, Lizzie." He replied, his lips in her ear. Stroking her back with his finger tips, he drew lazy circles on her warm, supple skin.

"Me too," Lizzie smiled, leaning her head back to look at him properly. "Where do we go from here?"

"Wherever you want to."

"I want to do this again."


End file.
